Restitution
by thinkingfuriously
Summary: "Now, my sweet," he said, "you very well know how I take to people who have betrayed me."
1. Chapter 1

**So I have had this on my computer for a while now and have decided to post it finally. Enjoy the read! There. Intro finished.**

 **Disclaimer: Nothing but this story's plot is mine.**

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Hermione rushed out through the mass of trees into the small clearing and skidded to a halt as her feet hit the pavement. She was facing some old, dilapidated street. She bent forward to rest her hands on her knees and slow down her fast breathing, her mind doing back flips trying to figure out the next move.

The long, narrow street was almost deserted except for a group of teenagers laughing by a bench, an old gray-haired couple walking slowly hand in hand, and a girl some feet away in black shirt and trousers smoking a cigarette, the smoke curling upwards in a white cloud before disappearing. The girl frowned at her as if Hermione had popped her quiet bubble of peace, but eventually her eyes slid away towards a far distance.

Hermione looked away too, forcing her muscles to relax. She noticed two men about twenty feet away with their backs turned to her. It was a sweltering hot day, but the two men were in long robes. And more importantly, this was a Muggle part of London. She squinted her eyes to get a closer look. Taking some reluctant steps towards their direction, she could just make out what looked like a wand, held onto with a tight grip by one of the men. Wizards.

And one of them kept shooting worried glances every few seconds towards the dark forest looming over the street. The forest she had just broken out from. She slowed down her pace. Were they looking for her? Then her thoughts and steps immediately came to a halt as the man with the wand turned around. His alert eyes slid over her head and scanned the street, but then they came back to rest on her.

She abruptly turned back around. Her hands were shakily reaching for her own wand, but then she realized. Malfoy had it. He had taken it away from her. She let out a frustrated whimper and raised one hand to her face making a show of wiping away some dirt, but really trying to shield it. Risking a look over her shoulder, she saw that the man was furiously speaking to the second one, jabbing his wand in her direction. The other man ignored him, but the first man started to make his way towards where she was standing. He had recognized her. She was sure of it.

Her heart thumping in her chest, Hermione swiveled her eyes left and right, trying to gauge the surroundings. Any second now the man would be next to her and then he would force her to return to that manor, haul her in front of Malfoy, greedily waiting for his prize. No, it couldn't happen. She had to escape, and fast.

Her mind was racing, desperately trying to find a hideaway. There. There it was. An outdated, shabby looking shop was standing by itself at just the opposite intersection. She could make it there. She knew she could. Throwing one last panicked look over her shoulder, she made a break for it. Her feet stomped on the pavement and the girl in black paused to look at her again, but it didn't matter. The shop could be her last chance.

There was row of bushes lining the shop's entrance and she ducked through them, not caring of the thorns biting her skin, and then hurled herself in through the open doors. Throwing her body on the floor, she crawled behind a row of glittery dresses. There was a burn on her elbow and she could tell she had scraped it pretty hard, but she couldn't pay it any attention right now. She slowly craned her neck around the dresses to have a look. She soon spotted his robes through the thicket of bushes outside. Hermione kept her eyes on him, praying. He kept walking. He didn't stop.

She watched him until he turned the corner and was out of sight. A sigh of relief whooshed out of her mouth and she let her head roll back, resting against the shelf. She glanced down at her dirty, ripped clothes and the blood drying on her arms. She could do with fresh clothes.

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She hadn't even taken three steps out of the shop when a cold hand landed on her shoulder. Something hard and pointy was now trailing up her spine. The thing curled in her hair and stayed. The person knelt down by her ear and Hermione could smell his aftershave. She knew. He was here. Her heart started thundering through her rib cage as the person yanked on the collar of her new dress and she slammed back into her a hard chest.

"You. Bitch." Malfoy sneered into her hear. "One would think that with those brains, you'd be more careful."

She could hear the viciousness in his voice and worked her throat trying to speak. "This is not possible, this is not possible," she whispered. She had made sure the other man hadn't followed her! Had he instead gone off and informed Malfoy? Of course he had. That's why the lion was outside, waiting to pounce.

As if reading her thoughts, Malfoy replied, "I didn't need to follow you, darling. You must have worked out by now that my men have been watching you. They have been giving me timely reports." His cold hand slithered down her sleeveless arm, raising her skin in gooseflesh.

"Of course, it has always been impossible for you, you must know that!" He let out a short laugh, no humor present. "I had to let you think you could get away. Otherwise, I wouldn't have a show to enjoy, would I?" He stepped closer, burying his face in her hair. "I must applaud your effort at the disguise, though." He brought his hand back up and played with the strap on her shoulder. "You clean up nice."

Hermione's frantic eyes searched the street, willing someone to help as Malfoy continued. "It is a shame, Granger. It could have been so easy." He inhaled sharply and then sighed, his breath stirring her curls. Her own breathing was getting shallower and shallower. "I was going to let you go, but you play dirty, don't you?" No one was here anymore. Malfoy had made sure of it.

His hand left her shoulder and slid up her neck. Hermione whimpered, "Dra-" but she couldn't finish as his wand dug hard into the back of her skull, effectively silencing her.

"Now, my sweet," he said, "you very well know how I take to people who have betrayed me." He snaked his other arm around her waist as the one on her neck started squeezing, blocking her airway. And then, before Hermione could know what was happening, they disapparated with a loud pop, softly rustling the leaves in their wake.

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 **I am not sure as to when I will be updating. I have some ideas going around in my mind as to what will happen next, but haven't got it fully figured out. Nonetheless, share your thoughts!**


	2. Chapter 2

**The continuation of the earlier chapter, here it is. Apologies for taking so long, but hope you all appreciate like it!**

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As soon as she landed on solid ground, Hermione shot her legs out wildly, trying to kick Malfoy away. Surprisingly, Malfoy showed no resistance and let his arms slide away, leaving her a little dazed. She rubbed her neck, soothing the pain. Clearing her throat, she gave a confused look around. Dark. And gray. Everything was gray. The walls, the floor, the ceiling. The space would have been pitch black if it were not for the two long windows on one of the walls. And it smelled awful. Hermione wrinkled her nose as she peered out of the shabby windows. She had the feeling that this place had not been occupied in a long while. It appeared deserted.

Her hopes of reaching Ron and Harry dampened. There was a storm raging outside, the wind was howling and incredibly fierce. If the trees had any leaves left on them, they would have been ripped away from the branches by now, she thought miserably. It wouldn't be easy to navigate through this pouring rain and fight with the wind. On top of that, she had no clue where Malfoy had brought her.

He pulled her attention away from the storm as she heard his footsteps leading away. He came to a halt shortly after. She waited as her eyes adjusted to the dark and, gradually, she could make out the outline of his white shirt. He was standing facing away from her with his head bent. His hands reached toward something and then they disappeared. She squinted her eyes and held herself back from walking closer to see what he was doing.

She forced herself to speak. "Where are we?" Catching the nervousness in her voice, she cleared her throat again and kept her eyes on Malfoy. It seemed he hadn't noticed. It wouldn't do to have him know how scared and helpless she felt. He didn't answer.

His arms were buried inside some sort of shelf, in a cabinet, she guessed. He grunted as he shuffled around in it. Hermione could hear the sound of metal banging. The noise seemed incredibly sharp and shrill due to the eerie quietness in the room. She was feeling more and more anxious by the second. Willing her heart to beat on calmly, she forced her mind to be useful. Her body was catching up to the tiredness and gloominess of her mood. She needed to use the energy, now draining away, to find an escape.

But just what was he up to? Instead of getting out of here, her feet itched to step closer and have a look. And at the same time, she did not want to be close to Malfoy. The thought itself made her wince. However, the logical thing would be to know and be prepared... As her mind was wavering, she once again heard scraping of metal on the steel cabinet and then Malfoy abruptly stepped away.

He slowly turned and faced her, keeping his arms behind him. Hermione saw a glint of something sharp in the scant light that was coming in through the windows, but could not tell what he held in his hands. He had a serene expression on his face as he gazed toward the windows.

"The basement," answered Malfoy, late response to her earlier question. He slowly started to stroll towards her and she wondered why he looked so content. Her curiosity was getting the best of her. She was losing her wits, with all that wondering what Malfoy's agenda was. What was wrong with her? She wanted to grab a hold of her brain and squish it, make it work properly. She should only have one task to focus on for now- to get out of here. Everyone would be waiting for her and all she was doing right now was furthering their worry.

"The basement of what?" Her feet started to shuffle backwards as he approached her.

Malfoy turned to her at last and stared. "No point looking for a way out, pet. You won't be able to apparate from here," he said, reading into her obvious distress.

"You have my wand, you swine. I can't apparate without it."

"All the more proof of your low birth. Only the greatest of wizards can," he replied wryly. Hermione's fists tightened. How could he think that of her? She was starting to fizz with anger, but told herself to stay calm.

He was only couple inches away from her now. As he came to a stop, he brought one hand up to cup her cheek and smiled down at her. She wanted to shrink back from his touch, but kept her composure and looked at him. Despite his remark of her blood, the smile was not exactly scornful. There was something else in his eyes. Regret? No, why would he regret? Sadness? Not possible.

She shook her head, dislodging the stupid thought. "Don't touch me, Malfoy."

"You did not seem to have a problem with me doing this before," he replied as his hand slipped down her arm and held hers lightly, his thumb tracing outlines on her wrist. The tension of the many days she had spent lost in the woods, keeping herself out of sight, frantically searching for help, was slowly seeping out of her body. A quiet tranquility was coming over her. His touch and his quiet words always had this effect on her. It seemed he still had this power over her, despite everything he had done. She cursed herself silently as her chest ached.

How could she have been so dense all this time? Rare as it was these days, whenever she could find a moment to rest, the same thoughts floated around in her mind. That she had caused the downfall of Hogwarts, of Dumbledore, of the _good_. She had been the one to start it all. Harry had warned her, hadn't he? That Malfoy was a death eater, that he had a rotten soul.

As she cast her mind back into the past, she remembered Harry's objections, but she had been too concerned, noticing the signs of distress in Malfoy. His frame was getting thinner day-by-day. He appeared nervous, his eyes moving to and fro anxiously, not keeping his attention on anything for long. Something was wrong with him and she wanted to fix it. It did not mean that she wanted him to return to his old nasty self, to pick on Ron and Harry. She only did not like witnessing the physical toll that was overcoming him, even if it had been through his own doing.

Harry would disagree, of course. He would throw her a disparaging look each time she brought the up subject. But Hermione knew deep within her that all of humanity hadn't left Malfoy. It was crazy to consider the particular direction her thoughts were going, but she knew she had to do something.

She thought back now to how she had found Malfoy in the library one day. She had left the Great Hall early, leaving behind the chatter of students and professors and the clinking of glass and silverware. There was the impending Potions assignment looming over her head like a dark cloud. As Hermione entered the restricted section, her steps froze. A particular blond was standing by the bookshelf at the farthest corner of restricted section, staring at some unseen mark on the polished wood. He seemed so distressed and distant, that Hermione stood rooted to her place. It was so quiet in this section of the library that even the birds' cheerful chirps outside couldn't reach their ears. After some minutes, Hermione walked away, not knowing what to do.

When she returned two days afterward, she encountered him standing in the same spot again. She did not know what to say to him, but maybe this was her only chance, maybe he would look past his prejudice and speak to her. Throwing caution to the wind, she approached him.

Malfoy had been disgusted with her, it was plain to see. Obviously, he didn't want a thing to do with Harry's sidekick, a mudblood. Hermione gave a visit to the library the next day still. He had shouted at her to leave him alone, but she persisted. She couldn't pass him by in the school hallways anymore, watch the dark circles deepening under his eyes. It was all so unlike _him_. She had always been bothered by how he had been very proud of his looks, flaunting his style all over the school. However, his current state bothered her even more. And now, how could she pretend that she couldn't see his slumped shoulders, his hair in disarray?

Some days she would bring an apple with her and slide it on the table towards him. She would sit a few feet away and wait, hoping he would treat her like a human and let her help him. Sometimes she would sift through the pages of a book that took her fancy and read a while. After some minutes though, she would have to get up and leave for class, the apple left sitting on the table. She doubted that he was attending the classes anymore, so she didn't bother to ask him to follow. He would only scoff at her if she did.

When she would come back the next day, the apple would be gone, but he would still be there. He ate it, she would suppose happily, but his skin would be whiter still, and she would realize that that was only naive thinking. Obviously, someone came here after the students left to clean up.

Of course, her friends wondered why she would go to the library instead of hanging around, laughing at their ridiculous jokes. In hindsight, they probably chalked it up to her need to learn absolutely everything.

She was supposed to hate him, she very well knew. She understood what she was doing was not rational. And yet she didn't stay away. One day, Malfoy had been sitting on the windowsill. It was dark, but she heard a sniffle. Her steps faltered. He seemed intent on facing out from the window. As the realization slowly dawned on her that Malfoy was crying, she recognized that she was intruding today. He, of course, would be quick to correct her that it was not just today but rather every day she was intruding upon his privacy. But that was the point. His spirit, arrogant and condescending as it was, seemed to have left him. He would not correct her at all. He would just want to be left alone.

And that is what essentially troubled her. She could not leave him alone. She wanted him to regain his spirit and not be gloomy anymore. A human should not be that unhappy. She went up to him. Her insides were feeling gooey as she brought a hand on his arm. That had startled him out of his trance and he had roared down on her with such fury. He had shot up from his perch and pushed her hard. The apple she had brought that day slipped from her hand and fell to the floor as he forced her out. He screamed hoarsely at her, begging her to stop coming.

Then she had not ventured to the restricted section. He was hurting, she was aware. But from what? Why could she not help him? She desperately wanted to help him, but it was so troubling, and inconvenient, that he hated her. She, on the other hand, didn't feel that way about him anymore. She did not hate him. She had long ago come to terms with that. Harry would be furious, but that was the truth of it, that was how she felt.

Almost three weeks later then, she was back. Perhaps she was wrong, perhaps she should leave it be. It pained her to think how fed up Malfoy would be. He might finally hex her into oblivion. And she deserved it, she thought unhappily as she trudged along in the quiet passage. She had been bothering him like a pest. When she arrived in the restricted section, he sighed at the sight of her. He seemed exasperated. Then he stayed quiet. He went back to looking out the window, submerging himself in his thoughts, not letting her in. Hermione had stood there and smiled stupidly. He was not screaming at her to leave him again. She had broken in through the gates of his wall. Pulling a chair out, she deposited herself in it, sitting across from him.

At some point during her reading, Hermione fell asleep. She had woken up to his quiet breathing. He was standing next to her, head bent down, perhaps trying to read what she had in front of her. He smelled of faint peppermint. Gathering that she was awake, he had straightened himself back up and strolled away.

The following day, there was a textbook waiting at her seat. She paused.

"That would be the newer edition, if you must continue reading that moronic author's scribbles," Draco said dryly.

Hermione pulled out a chair and lowered herself. "Where did you get this?" Draco didn't respond and she stayed quiet after that, curiously trailing her finger on the shiny spine of the book. She decided to take the book to her dorm that day. She knew somehow that it wasn't the library's property. Draco had brought his own book for her.

After that, he transformed. He would at times sit down across from her and read. Hermione was dying to know what Draco read. She would casually walk around the table, over to the large windows, and try to have a peek over his shoulders. She could never see what he was reading, but it was dark arts, that much she was sure of. They were in restricted section, after all. What else would he be interested in?

He would not let her into his thoughts still, but now and then, there would be a book waiting for her. And while she had to bear with his closed self, this change in his behavior, this generosity, gave her something tangible to deal with. In addition, he had given up on being mute. He would throw his remarks about her hair and clothes out in the open with the customary disdain from before, though now Hermione could not hear the hurtful bites anymore. The nastiness in his words was gone, the intended impact on her ineffectual.

Instead, she felt happier. He was interacting with her, even if it was meant to be negative. She thoroughly believed that his scornful behavior was just a show- a wall he put up to hide behind because he couldn't face his own feelings about her.

The apple she brought everyday now was not left sitting on the table hopelessly. He would play with it sometimes, throw it up high in the air and then catch it only to throw it up again. He would pace back and forth, deep in concentration. But sooner or later, she would hear the crunch of his teeth biting into the fresh fruit. She found it hard not to grin then. The fact that Hermione, Potter's best friend, had held the apple in her muggleborn hands and Draco, the pureblood, did not care anymore and ate it nevertheless, made her feel giddy.

She recalled the first time he had sent for her. She had come running to the library. As she walked to the window he usually sat under, an arm shot out and pulled her against a bookshelf. She didn't have chance to scream because rough lips, bitten raw, crashed down on hers. He tasted of peppermint. She relaxed and leaned into him.

The library was their secret place. Sometimes they would sit together on the floor, her back against his chest, his face buried in her hair. She would feel his breathing become calmer and deeper as he would let sleep take over. Sometimes they would read and bicker childishly, delicately leaving the subject of friends and family untouched. Sometimes they would just be close.

Then not too long ago she had found him again standing by the large windows away from their table. There, on the table, he had left his book unattended. Hermione walked over to his side of the table and glimpsed at the pages. The text was too small to read from this far, but she could make out the heading- _Vanishing Cabinets_. Hermione started. Vanishing cabinets? How would he know them? And why would he care for it? With a frown she walked up to Draco and slid her arms around his back, hugging him. She chewed on her bottom lip as she thought how to ask him about the vanishing cabinets. He turned around and smiled down on her radiantly. In that moment, she let this newly found cheerfulness of his brush away her worry and thought no more of the book.

"What is Dumbledore up to?" He had asked one afternoon. The sun was shining brightly through the windows. His eyes glittered.

"What do you mean?" Hermione asked back, semi-automatically, barely keeping the note of surprise from her voice. She and Draco had been avoiding topics like these. This library, this restricted section with the comfortable table and the hard chairs, was their safe haven, where they could pretend the other, more real part of their lives did not exist. So why did he bring up Dumbledore? He and Harry had gone to find Voldemort's horcrux. Clearly, she could not tell Draco that. He was looking at her expectantly and was opening his mouth to speak again. However, to Hermione's great relief, a younger student loitering in the restricted section a few yards away chose that moment to come to the bookshelf they were sitting in front of and Draco had quietened.

"Potter is absent as well. Where have they gone?" He whispered another day, letting the apple he had been nibbling on drop on the floor. Hermione watched the apple roll as Draco leaned against the table. He rested his arm on it and crossed his legs at the ankles, waiting. She cleared her throat and didn't look up from the book, the contents of the book suddenly demanding all her attention. She was not sure, but had Draco a note of urgency in his voice? He had already caught on that fact that Harry was not attending classes anymore. But how did any of this matter to him? Harry's disapproving words of Draco seeped into her mind. _Malfoy is a death eater. Malfoy is a death eater._ What if Harry was right? Hermione quickly muffled that thought, banishing it out of her mind. She was being stupid. That was not possible. If Draco really were on Voldemort's side, he wouldn't be sitting with her, sharing the same breathing space as her, would he? The old, prejudiced boy she had seen turning into a man would be hateful and would not hesitate to curse her. Besides, he was braver than that. He wouldn't cow to Voldemort. He would be with her, fighting back for the good.

However, Draco had been unceasing with the inquiries. He was sly about it, she understood belatedly. They would argue about researchers and poets and artists quite passionately, and then he would spring out the questions on Harry or Dumbledore- leaving her mind grasping for distractions. His eyes would follow her as she fumbled over the words. It was getting harder to deflect him. She was conflicted. Her conscience was nagging at her, telling her something was off. But she wanted to keep Draco to herself, here. With him here, alone in the library, she felt free and almost like a child who did not know what was going on in the outside world and thus, never had a reason to worry.

The next time Draco had asked of Dumbledore's and Harry's whereabouts, Hermione couldn't stop the frustration escaping her mouth. This game of cat and mouse couldn't go on anymore. Without looking up at him, she asked, "why does it matter?" She shoved her book closed and eyed him irritably. "Why do you keep asking?"

Before she knew it, he had shot up from his chair and leaped to her side. His hand was raised. It had happened too fast. She remembered the cracking sound that had sliced through the air as his hand had struck her face. Ignoring the searing pain on her cheek, she looked up to his mutinous face, shocked. She could not believe what he had just done, but she kept replaying the moment in her head. It had happened. He had hit her.

Though now his anger was leaving him and he looked deflated. He sagged down to his knees and tugged her close. She pulled back. "I am sorry," he whispered. The accusation and contempt from his eyes had disappeared. He was sorry. Hermione nodded.

That had been foolish. Because now here they were. Dumbledore had been snatched away, Death Eaters were rampaging through Hogwarts, and Harry and Ron were in hiding.

"Penny for your thoughts, Hermione?" asked Malfoy, startling her. She pulled herself out of her thoughts and back to the present. She had been crazy. And a coward, trusting and believing in a person she had known to be the enemy for so many years. For what reason? So she could pretend that things were normal, so she could be carefree?

What she had thought was turning into a loose kinship had only been a game of manipulation for Malfoy. She had let everyone down. After he had raised his hand on her, she should have faced the truth and run away, warned others.

She had loved him and maybe she still did, but clearly, he had nothing of that sort in his mind. She had to move on from the past and deal with what she had in front of her. As she focused her attention outside the window, at the howling wind, her spirits lifted as an idea took shape in her mind. "I'll fight you. I didn't do it before." The thought solidified as the words left her mouth. "But I will do it now."

"You will fight?" He let out a soundless laugh. Hermione's fists clenched. Naturally he would make light of this situation. "Alright…" He cocked his head to the side. "Though this newly found bravery of yours is not just a feeble attempt to waste my time?"

"I want my freedom." She planted her feet solidly on the ground, mustering the strength. "Something that I thought you wanted for us all along. I see now how wrong I was to trust your pathetic self," she spat at him.

Malfoy pulled out a knife _._ Her blood ran cold as she slowly realized what he had been doing at the cabinet before. Her feet started to back up, but Malfoy was quicker- he made a sharp swipe.

First, there was nothing. Then she felt a wetness on her face. Had she been crying? She touched her cheek and her hand came away red. He is not going to fight fair, she thought faintly.

Malfoy looked mesmerized by the thin trail of blood trickling down her cheek. Hermione grasped the chance, desperate, and landed a punch in his stomach. As he bent towards the floor, wheezing, Hermione placed both of her hands on his shoulders and raised her knee, shoving it in his face. She felt a rush as she heard that solid, satisfying crunch. He deserved this pain.

Malfoy let out a yelp and backed up, woozy. He straightened up slowly and a slow grin spread across his face. His face was bloody, the color staining the pearly teeth she was always envious of. He looked maniacal. "Not bad, mudblood. Was that all?"

Hermione's lunged at him. Her energy was renewed. Malfoy blithely backed out of her reach and laughed as she missed. He wouldn't be caught off guard again. She heard his laughter ringing through the room, mocking her incompetence. "Oh _dear_. Looks like you really are useless without your wand." All at once, he was in front of her. He grasped a fistful of her hair and yanked hard, his teeth bared. Hermione stumbled and lost her footing as he shoved her back. She tried to kick him and winced as sharp pain shot up her leg. Her ankle had been broken most likely.

She used her her hands, clawing at his skin, his face. This person was not her Draco. He had been corrupted. After all the time they had spent together and kissed and kissed more and snuggled, how could he do this to her? She wanted to scream. Her foot was throbbing. Draco watched her simply and calmly, keeping her prisoned against the wall. He was waiting for her to tire.

Finally, he pressed himself closer, stilling her movements. Hermione whimpered at his closeness. "Enough," he breathed. He brought one hand to her throat, barely touching the skin.

"Where is he?" She didn't respond and he started to squeeze. When Hermione said nothing still, he pulled her forward and slammed her head to the wall. She felt limp, like a rag doll. She brought her hands to her head, trying to stop the rising ringing in her ears.

Draco seemed unperturbed. "Where is Potter?" He shouted.

She didn't struggle. It was no use. There were black spots dotting her vision as Malfoy kept tightening his hold. She opened her mouth and tried to gulp in some air. "Why? After... after all we..."

"No, Granger. We didn't do anything. You were too fucking blind to see I was using you. Now," he leaned in so she could smell the blood in his breath, "where is Potter hiding?"

"Don't. We can run away," she whispered hoarsely. "I have loved you." She didn't care anymore. If he didn't love her, what was the point? Harry and Ron were gone and maybe… maybe it would be better if she didn't leave any trail trying to follow them. And she could never destroy Draco. Did she want to even?

She could stay with him.

She locked her eyes with his, willing him to listen. "Please."

Draco's hand suddenly left her throat and as oxygen rushed to her brain, he brought his bloody lips down to her own. Tears escaped her eyes in relief. She could be with Draco; they could run away, keep everyone safe. It would be alright now.

She felt him move. He was pulling away. She frowned as she felt the cold air on her face. Hermione opened her mouth, wanting to call him back closer. But her words were cut short and her eyes widened as Draco swiped the knife across the delicate skin of her throat.


End file.
